Time and Time Again
by Begriffsschrift
Summary: Parts I through IV consolidated. Summary: Vicious circles and the minds that interpret them—1827 sexual abuse, martyr-complex!Tsuna, semi-parental!Reborn. Mildly disturbing.


[Act I: Time and Time Again]   
[Act II: Ouroboros]   
[Act III: Fragmented Time]  
[Act IV: The End of Time]

**Author:** rappelezfille (thi_hoai)  
**Rating:** M/Low R  
**Pairing:** 1827, semi-parental!Reborn + Tsuna  
**Warnings:** Dark. Noncon. Mental illness. Exploration of a sexually abusive relationship from the inside and outside. Subsequent angst.  
**Summary:** Vicious circles and the minds that interpret them—a montage. Boss!Tsuna and #YL everyone.  
**A/N:** It used to be a four-part story, but it was consolidated for a flow-fix. Um, I'm finicky like that...

I tried the best I could to make the victim, perpetrator, and third-party mentalities/pathologies as true as I could to the inherent personalities and complexes of the characters. The success of which, I guess only you could tell.

* * *

"Dame-Tsuna."

The voice is laced with more worry than contempt. The man sits in a parlor chair by the four-poster bed, arms crossed, a frown marring his face.

The shadow of Reborn's fedora eclipses his eyes, but Tsuna knows the gaze is directed at him. He can _feel_ it, and he buries himself a little deeper under the mountain of covers—

[the bruises, he refuses to show them; the blood is still there.]

—to feel less naked.

Tsuna speaks lowly, the sheets dampening the sound to a pianissimo.

"I know what you're going to say, but that's not going to stop you from telling me anyway, is it?" The words are rhetorical, resigned. Bitter in a way that reminds Reborn harshly that this is a _Boss—Vongola Decimo—_and not the ingenuous junior-high brat.

"You can't keep doing this."

He says the same thing every time, but Tsuna can't stop the sharp inhalation that always comes afterward in response, because it's almost like his lungs—his body—cannot deny that it is all _wrong, wrong, wrong—_

"Your subordinate has crossed too many lines." A stern tone, a subtext: _'He's hurting you.'_

Tsuna replies with an eerie amount of conviction, appallingly inconsistent with the blankets he holds tightly around his body, trembling. "I… will _never_ raise a hand against my Family." An unheard plea: _'I love him.'_

"He's taking advantage of that—"

Tsuna fires a shot, a half foot shy of Reborn's ear, and then he sets the Glock back on his beside table, retreating into his cocoon of linens. He won't listen anymore, because he knows it all too well. And somehow, at the same time, he doesn't want to know at all.

Reborn sighs and leans back in the chair, redirecting his scrutiny to the ceiling. _'Tsuna's denial is high maintenance in an entirely different way now.'_

"I'll assume you won't want a doctor up here… which is, for the record, mind-blowingly _stupid_, but… just…" The hitman kneads his face with a stray hand, in a rare show of defeat. "Just don't lose sight of what _you_ want." The man picks himself up and makes for the door, stepping clear of the ripped clothing on the marble tile.

The recommendation is stark in its validity—Tsuna can't keep the times he had screamed from ringing in his ears, can't steady his jarred sense of self-security. But he also can't help but betray himself, time and time again. With a stare, he stops Reborn, who pauses, holding the double doors ajar and looking back over his shoulder—

"Don't lose sight of my authority." _'This is my will.'_

"I haven't." _'That's what I'm afraid of.'_

That's what they're both afraid of.

* * *

_'—feel sick.'_

Hibari is readjusting his tie like he always does when he's angry. Tsuna can't remember what he did wrong—

[because it's his fault, isn't it?]

"So, uh, thank you Hibari-san. It was a good spar. I swear—I've been cooped up in that office for too long." Tsuna laughs lightly, strained. There's a low hum in acknowledgment.

His eyes, that look is still there. Tsuna feels small and tents his fingers.

_'I feel sick.'_

"Speaking of which, Chrome had dropped off some more paperwork. Ah, I'm sorry, but I think I have to see to it or Reborn will have my head…" He's talking more to himself now; his words are empty noise.

But quiet would reaffirm the ambient sense of foreboding —no, _wrongness_, because it's not anticipatory anxiety anymore—it's been too long, too long for that.

It is his own resignation that is making his stomach churn.

"Well, I think I'll get g—"

Hibari grabs his wrist. Unsurprised, Tsuna goes pliant—Hibari tends to grip harder when he struggles—

[and it's hard to explain bruised wrists to Gokudera.]

Tsuna relaxes into the man's shoulder—_'It placates him, right?'_—and tries not to sigh. He can't figure him out. Sometimes sees a _man_ in Hibari—though a violent one—and sometimes he sees a needy child. He finds himself at the mercy of both and doesn't know what to feel about it.

So he doesn't feel anything at all.

***

There is never any foreplay.

Reborn tells him that it's _wrong_, what Hibari is doing. But it's not that he doesn't want it—it just… hurts, and feels better when it stops.

Because it would ruin everything if he didn't want it, wouldn't it? The Family, his control as a Boss, his mind… If it were rape, it wouldn't be okay, and it _has_ to be okay.

[_"Is it wrong to not want trouble?_"]

[_"…won't be a burden."_]

He looks up at Hibari, his back arched uncomfortably, arms over his head, knuckles hitting against the headboard. Hibari's face is shadowed—the sun sets early now—but Tsuna can make out a frustrated grimace and the dark eyes.

They are sad eyes, but perhaps it's just his imagination.

Tsuna feels himself being flipped over, inwardly groaning. He doesn't like it from behind. He can't see. He can't hold onto Hibari's back.

He grips the sheets and tries not to wince at the thrusts. Hibari isn't known for being gentle.

_'It's okay like this.'_

_'It's okay like this.'_

Sometimes Tsuna would take a—_traitorous_—look at his Gloves and his Dying Will Pills sitting on his dresser. Tempted. Imagining his hands around Hibari's neck. Around one of his Family.

It's not like him—not at all, these vindictive urges—it's scary. He smothers the feeling and focuses on repositioning his hips. He doesn't want another tear.

It feels _good_ for a fleeting moment. Tsuna lets his mind get lost in it, go silent.

"You shouldn't be that strong."

The voice is in his ear without forewarning, somewhere between a growl and a whisper. It isn't a compliment, it isn't pillow-talk—

It's more like an alpha male defending his territory. _'Mine, mine, mine…'_

It's sudden when his hair is being pulled, and his legs—oh God, the blood—over _his_ shoulders, it's too intimate—

[The hate is too intimate, the love is too intimate.]

—He cries out for _more_, he cries out for salvation, he cries—such ugly sobs, the words _"Stop"_ and _"I love you.'_ lodged in his throat, and all he can manage is—

"I'm sorry."

His cheeks are flushed from the sex and the hot tears, and in that hairsbreadth of time when they both pause to breath, Tsuna sees him and understands. Maybe it is his Intuition. His eyes, they say—

_'You can't be that strong, or you won't need me anymore.'_

Tsuna clasps the hand that traps him, restrains him to the bed.

"I'm sorry."

***

Early morning, Tsuna wakes to an empty room.

The sheets are disgusting, and he rolls onto his side, into the impression that Hibari left in the mattress. He's shaking, and he hugs himself carefully to gain purchase, avoiding the tender new bruises.

It's hard to tell, that feeling. Is it relief or disappointment?

It's only when he fires a warning shot at Reborn on one of his uncannily-timed appearances that Tsuna knew it was both.

* * *

It's too fast.

_'What?'_

This blood, it's not his?

It's not his, but—Hibari, he's untouchable, he's—

—on the ground, his eyes are opened too wide. Arms positioned as if he had been clutching his head.

Reborn?  
Iemitsu?

Tsuna's quaking—he had seen the guns before they were holstered.

No, NO—

He doesn't think at all, can't see where they are—looming in that doorway—or even his own state of undress. Everything's blurry, but his body knows, his Gloves know, his Flames _know_—

And he has them on the ground by their collars, looking at them but through them at the same time. He makes this sound—_who knew a human was capable of making such a sound, let alone_ Tsuna—and it's…

Horrible.

It's a horrible sound—some sort of keening, angry _scream_, mottled with something that sounded like _"How could you?!"_

Their eyes are wide, and Reborn— he's saying something as he struggles for air.

"—k at what he has done to you! Look at how he has _hurt_ you!"

[There's too much evidence.]

The bruises on his jaw, his upper arms, inner thighs. The red and white sticky on his legs.

Eyes glassy, clenched teeth. Tsuna's looking at the ceiling now.

"You… You don't, you DON'T—!"

_Get it. Understand. Know anything._

He can't believe in the words long enough to say them, because everything—everything _hurts_. The initial hysteria is starting to falter. The Flames extinguish. His grip weakens, releasing them both—they heave for breath. "But he… I—"

The self-consciousness comes abruptly. He rips the blanket from the bed, covers his body, his face—

_"They can't look, I won't let them look, because there's nothing wrong. It's all okay; it's okay, okay, okay—"_

He doesn't know he's muttering aloud.

"Tsuna! Listen, Tsuna, we didn't kill him!"

Tsuna lowers the blanket fractionally, exposing only his eyes. He looks up at his father numbly.

"It was a non-vital spot, and he's going to be treated. But we've called the Vendiche. They're coming for him, okay?"

He knows that _somewhere_ in his head, he knows what that entails, but his mind is blank. He nods uncomprehendingly.

"Will you let the medics treat you?"

He doesn't answer to the words—he can only focus on, only see his father's hand—_'too large'_—coming towards his shoulder and he backhands it away. Iemitsu hisses and cradles his hand.

Reborn kneels next to Tsuna, eye-level to him, not wanting his height to be perceived as a threat. He speaks softly, keeping his distance.

"Do you want to go get cleaned up? We can get some fresh clothes for you."

Reborn hardly considers it a good thing that his student doesn't seem lucid enough to make fun of his paternal-streak. The cloudy eyes, the uneven breathing—they don't expect a response. But he starts to speak. His voice is quiet, coarse.

_Sore._

"You won't tell them… will you?"

Gokudera. Yamamoto. Lambo. Onii-san. Chrome. His Family.

Reborn opts for honesty.

"I'm unsure how well we can keep this under wraps _within_ the Family, but I promise…" He looks into Tsuna's eyes—they're barely registering, but registering_enough_—and says, "They will never hear it from us." The man gives a covert glance to Iemitsu, in both warning and confirmation. Iemitsu nods solemnly—_trying not to think how much more of a father Reborn is than he'd ever been_—and attempts a comforting smile at his son.

The ground… The ground seems to have escaped from beneath him. It's too much, being hurt. Being saved.

[Isn't it?]

Tsuna's cheeks are wet, his thoughts in a haze—but he's still able to tell that the two are blocking Hibari's body from his vision.

It's over. It's finally over.

But what now? _'What..._

_What in the hell am I supposed to do?'_

Tsuna doesn't sound twenty-six when he tells them he's scared.

* * *

It's summertime and Tsuna opens the windows in his office.

He stretches, yawns, wrings out the hands that had been slaving over a merger for the past hour, and takes a large gulp of fresh air as a small congratulations to himself. Vongola is healthy and growing, avoiding some of the bigger conflicts through absorption.

He feels…happy within measure, as long as he doesn't think about his life, his position—_or how many more people he is going to become accountable for with this frigging merger_—and he smiles to himself. It's a small smile, but it is miles wider than it had been months ago.

It had been hard. Harder than he would ever like to admit.

For a while, he wouldn't even dare to believe that he had been blameless. That he had been _victimized_. He'd plead that it was "consensual" or even "deserved." To come to accept the fact that Hibari…hurt him _bad_, and to know what that _meant_ in terms of his physical, mental, social and emotional health seemed only like a faraway dream.

He half-laughs now at some of the crazy, delusional things he used to say and believe.

[_"He didn't do anything wrong!"_]

[_"It's my fault!"_]

It had taken virtually living in his office for a month or so—he alone would have enough resources to do such a thing comfortably—letting only Reborn and his father see him, apart from his psychiatrist, chef, and personal team of medics. He had felt a little guilty, giving everyone written orders from the shadows—_'It had been hard to speak at_ all, _let alone face-to-face'_; he grimaces—and just asking everyone to be patient and just… _trust_ that he would come back to fight alongside them. In retrospect, he realizes the sheer amount of faith they had in him.

The "official" story fed to the Mafia world was that Sawada Tsunayoshi had become a bit of a shut-in after his Cloud Guardian had betrayed the Family—

_"Information leak,"_ they had said—

—which had been summarily "taken care of," including all of whom involved. Which, in the Mafia lexicon for situations of such gravity, implied death or imprisonment by Vendiche.

And rather than the truth of Tsuna not being _able_ to leave the main base, it was said that he _wouldn't_, to spare people his…"unreasonableness." Reborn had stressed to the public that it would be only temporary, and made a bluff that, if anything… major were to come up, a _"recently-betrayed, unreasonable Vongola Boss"_ would arrive to confront the issue—which, for the time being, was more than enough to keep any enemy activities quiet.

Reborn and Iemitsu had done everything in their capabilities to keep what Hibari had… _had done to him_… confidential. The only people who knew beyond a doubt what happened were the people Tsuna saw on a regular basis and the Vendiche. Most of the others on the inside were satisfied with the substitute story, but he'd had a feeling that his Guardians were suspicious. They were too close to him _not_ to be, but with their deeply-rooted respect for him—and _maybe_ a little enforcement by Reborn—they gave him his space. He'd resolved to tell them the day he was ready.

It was ugly.

That hesitant week before spring's gaudy entrance, he still remembers what their tears looked like—

[they hardly show them to him.]

There had been no incredulity, like he had expected. _'Perhaps we had grown too much,'_ he thinks, and it dawns on him how tired he sounds.

He had been met with silence—even from Gokudera. Then came the apologies—he thought they were unneeded, but he didn't say anything. Didn't want to deny them their feelings.

Once they had gathered themselves, he told them that _he_ was with Vendiche. They had asked why.

Why _he_ wasn't dead.

He said, as honest as he could be with them—and _himself_—

That he loved him, but would never forgive him.

***

Even as the nightmares start to lessen and time moves on—mercilessly, inconsiderate to everyone subjected to it—and as most of the stale memories are recycled for Ryohei shouting too loudly in the courtyard, that new stack of paperwork on his desk, what he might eat for lunch, the arrangements for the induction ceremony of that Family up north; things old exchanged for things new, whether for the better or the worse—

—He still keeps that memory in his desk. He's procrastinating a little before starting onto that monstrous stack of paperwork, and he slides the top drawer open. It has a little ink from the fountain pens on it, and despite it blackening his fingertips, he rolls the Cloud Ring around in his hand.

It's a cherished memory, a terrible memory—and somehow he finds solace. It is probably the sense of permanence that comforted him.

Because, everything aside, he has someone to love and to hate till the end of time.

[owari]


End file.
